


Vengeance

by Inquisitorkira



Series: Tempest [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Blood, Blood Magic, Explicit Language, Kidnapping, M/M, Romance, Torture, implied rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inquisitorkira/pseuds/Inquisitorkira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Third and final installment of 'Tempest' a.k.a the one where Dorian gets Kidnapped</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Armet had never much liked the sun. It irritated his fair skin, and was often far too bright. Even as a child he always preferred the soft cover of clouds to the blazing heat. He especially loathed the way the sun reflected off the frost backs in the morning, beaming through the windows of Skyhold to wake him. Normally, his naturally cheery disposition would overwhelm his hatred of the sun. But, as he rolled over in his bed away from the windows, he found he was alone in it. Armet frowned. It was very unlike Dorian to wake before him. In fact, the Tevinter mage was known to still be asleep long after the sun rose. Armet stretched, rubbing out a sore muscle in his arm, then quickly dressed and took leave of his quarters. There were only a few places in skyhold that Dorian took refuge in. Given that it was still rather early, it was doubtful that he was in the tavern. And he had long sense moved his belongings from his own quarters to Armet’s. That only left the library. Armet responded respectfully to the people he passed, smiling at and greeting all the citizens of Skyhold. He tried the best to remember everyone’s names. He thought it of the utmost importance to constantly remind them that he was just a man. A man who been dealt more than most, but a man all the same. Varric smirked when he saw the elf approaching, arms folded across his chest.

            “Good morning, Varric.”

            “Mornin’ Stormy,” Replied the dwarf with a chuckle. “You seem cheerful, not that that’s a bad thing.”

            Armet smiled. “Someone has to keep the mood light, especially with Dorian’s constant complaining.”

            “Can’t argue with that.”

            “Speaking of whom,” Armet caught himself twiddling his thumbs and stopped. “Have you seen our resident Pariah?”

            Varric cocked an eyebrow. “No, I assumed he’d be with you. Unless you two had a lover’s quarrel?”

            The inquisitor forced out a laugh. “Not that I know of. Perhaps I upset him with my snoring again.” But he doubted it. “I… better find him. I’ll see you for a round of wicked grace later.”

“Of course. See you around, Inquisitor.”

Armet nodded his leave, and hurried through the rotunda. It was still eerily quiet without Solas. Armet had just hardly begun to count him as a friend. But he hadn’t time to think about that now.

He felt all kinds of foolish, fretting over Dorian as a parent would a child. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and Armet was aware of that. He just had to be sure. He often got these strange stirrings, when he felt something was wrong. His mother had insisted it was a gift, a blessing from Mythal. He had been inclined to believe her. Just before his “reunion” with Hewen, he had felt the same he did now – a heaving beginning in his chest, a dull ache in the back of his skull. Something wasn’t right. Or maybe he was just making himself ill with worry. He rounded the top of the stairs, steading himself on the wall as he did so. He could feel his heart pounding in the tips of his ears. It seemed ages before he could finally see into the nook Dorian sat to read. He could hear someone, rustling pages. A smile crept on to his face. Praise the creators, it was all in his head after all.

A young man - the researcher’s apprentice - darted out of the nook, almost ramming into him as he passed. He muttered a gruff apology. Armet hardly heard him. Dorian was not there. He wasn’t gazing longingly out the window, or lounging in the overstuffed armchair, nose deep in a book he would insist wasn’t worth his time. But the chair in question was not empty. There was a parchment, tied shut with a single red ribbon. There was no mistaking it had been left for him. He was the only one who visited Dorian here. Armet handled it with shaking fingers. He untied the ribbon, letting it fall to the floor carelessly. He thought for a moment that perhaps he should take it back to his quarters to read in private. It was obviously sensitive information, as it wasn’t left with Josephine. But the ache in his head was growing. He needed to know where his Vhenan had gone. The paper crinkled as he unraveled it. Armet sucked in a breath, and read:

_Amatus,_

_It seemed too frivolous a thing to wake you for, this. The time has come for me to return to my country. Don’t stand there wide eyed with drool coming out of your mouth. We both knew this day would come. My time in the inquisition has been the best of my life, and I cannot thank you enough for that, nor for inspiring me to be a man as good as you. Perhaps I’ll be even better, though it will be tough to outmatch defeating a crazed darkspawn magister._

Armet paused, chuckling softly and wiping away a stray tear on his cheek.

_I suppose you’ll miss me, as now you’ll have to resort to Vivienne’s advice on high fashion. Do give my regards to the lot of them. And tell Bull I’ll eventually buy him that damn drink I owe. I can’t ask you not to worry, but know that I will write as soon as I can. Perhaps I’ll send for you once everything has settled down and Teviniter has outgrown the institution of slavery. Can’t very well have people thinking I’m your master. You know how people talk._

_Try not to die while I’m away; life would be incredibly dull without you._

_Sincerest Regards, Dorian of House Pavus_

Armet wasn’t sure if his fingers went numb or he just couldn’t hang on any longer, but the letter slipped from his hands on to the stones beneath his feet.

 

* * *

 

“ _Kaffas!_ ” This was the _third time_ in the short week Dorian had been traveling that his mount had suddenly stopped in the middle of the desert, without so much as a snort to warn him. “Come on, you glorified ass!” He kicked his boots into the animal trying to spur it onward. The mount obviously couldn’t be bothered. “Fine, have it your way.” Letting loose a string of curses in Tevene, he begrudgingly untethered himself and the saddle bags and slid onto the desert floor. At least he had finally made it through the mountains. It was so much easier to travel when one wasn’t in fear of their bones freezing over. He was making rather good time, all things taken into consideration. He knew it was a foolish mistake to take whatever Ferelden mule was left in the stables in the dead of night, but he couldn’t risk the Horse Master telling Armet he had gone.

            The idea had come to him while trudging through the hissing wastes one evening. He had been watching the elf fight off a band of slavers, providing barriers and the like from a distance. The way Armet fought had always been mesmerizing. His whole demeanor changed, brow furrowed deep in concentration, staff and lightening whirling around him in a flurry. If Dorian didn’t know him better he would say a whole different man took his place in the heat of battle. He knew as he watched the last slaver fall to a particularly powerful strand of magic that he had to go back to Tevinter without telling the Inquisitor. Of all the terrible things Dorian had done in his life this was by far the most wicked. He felt guilt consume him, as he signed and sealed his letter. He tried to convince himself he was being noble. He didn’t want Armet following him to Tevinter, it wouldn’t end well for either of them. But _Kaffas_ , he knew better. He wasn’t giving the elf enough credit. He was wise enough to know when and where he was needed.

            The reason he had scurried off in the darkness like some dirty rat was because Dorian Pavus was a coward. He couldn’t bear to see his lovers face, fresh tears on his cheeks, to hear him say it was alright when clearly it wasn’t. Armet would not have followed after him. He knew this was something Dorian had to do for himself. It would have been enough to make him stay, seeing him like that. And he couldn’t allow it.

            With a self-pitying sigh Dorian pulled his water canister from the bag and took a swig. It was already half empty. Thankfully, Armet had showed him a spell for turning sand into fresh water. It was unfortunate it didn’t change to wine. He tried to avoid thinking about the elf, he really did. He was afraid he would change his mind and go galloping back to skyhold if he did. But there wasn’t exactly much to do out here in this Maker Forsaken place, so he let his mind wander. He wondered what Armet was doing now, in the heat of the day. Most likely he was at the war table. He often joked that he spent so much time at that table that he might one day become part of it. Dorian chuckled at the thought. Maker, how he missed that blighted elf and his soft voice, the freckles on his face, the way he-

            His mount whined loudly and Dorian stood to tend to him. “Maker’s Breath, what is it now?” The horse whined again, attention fixed on something in the distance. Dorian followed his gaze. For miles there was nothing but sand. “It’s nothing, you big stupid-“ Something came darting towards him from the distance, engulfing him. A net maybe? Something enchanted? It took him too long a moment to respond. His staff, he had to find his staff! But he couldn’t see, let alone move. Oh bloody hell, he knew this was a mistake, he should have stayed in the safety of skyhold- he should have stayed with Armet! It didn’t matter now, there wasn’t a thing he could do. He was fighting a losing battle, drifting into an uncomfortable blackness.

 

 It wasn’t the first time Dorian had awoken to the taste of blood in his mouth. Though normally,  the night before had involved a bottle of wine and some pleasant company- not being abducted in the middle of the desert. There was a first time for everything, he supposed. He groaned, his muscles aching as he tried to push himself from the floor back onto his feet. He hadn’t the slightest idea where he was or what had happened. As his vision began to clear, a heavy ache arose in his back and skull. He was in some sort of cell. No windows, and he couldn’t clearly see an exit. It seemed he was trapped in a dungeon. _Kaffas_ why couldn’t he remember what had happened? It soon became clear that standing wasn’t going to be easy and he gave in, crashing into a heap on the floor. He swore loudly in Tevene and whipped his mouth with the back of his hand. His hand came back covered in blood. In the midst of it all he had apparently bitten his tongue. That would certainly put a damper on kissing- assuming her ever had someone to kiss again. No matter. He had more important things to fuss about, like how in Andraste’s name he was going to get out of here. He hadn’t his staff, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use magic. He stood again, having gained his balance now, and started with a simple spell. He clutched the cell bars with his hands in an attempt to heat them up. Nothing. He couldn’t even feel the magic inside him. They must have hexed him, whoever this illusive _they_ were. Before he could investigate further, he heard a door creak open and let go of the bars. Perhaps it was Qunari soilders, looking to make some extra coin by bringing in a Tevinter noble. Or worse - his father’s men. He winced at the thought. Though he had thought they had put most of their differences behind them during their last meeting, he wouldn’t put it past the man to change his mind.

            It wasn’t either of those, but a small elven woman. She was even slighter than Armet, with dark skin and facial tattoos that didn’t look like any Vallislin he had ever seen. She approached him quietly, pulling down the grey hood the covered her head. Much to Dorian’s surprise she hadn’t any hair at all. She smiled at him, and eerie gesture, but said nothing. Dorian was quickly growing impatient. “I suppose,” He coughed, a globule of blood splattering across the stones, “You’d have me tortured and hanged for enslaving your people, yes?”

She smirked at him for a moment longer before pursing her lips and whistling loudly. The door open and shut again, and two more elves joined her side. They both had facial markings similar to the woman. One of the newcomers was equipped with a bow, the other a staff- a mage.

            “I am Fa.” Said the bald woman, smiling again, “I, unlike most, will not be swayed by your eloquent syntax, Dorian Pavus.”

            “Ah, so you know who I am.” He quipped back sharply. “That takes care of the long winded introduction then. Now if you would be so kind to tell me where I am and why you have me caged here like a rabid Mabari hound?”

            “You are not here in regards to your own actions.” Fa laughed.

            “Really? Because surely I trekked all the way out into the desert looking for trouble all on my own!”

            “You jest. It is not wise.”

            “Well you certainly seem to find the situation rather humorous!” He scoffed. “Care to let me in on the joke?”

             “Your inquisitor, he preaches so often of a kinder world. He says he wishes to unite Thedas and establish a world with less crime, less hate.” Her smile fell then. She looked much more menacing this way, features flat and emotionless.  “Then why is it he murdered one of his own without seeing to a proper trial, hmm?”

            Dorian swallowed hard. So this was about Hewen. That bastard was still haunting him, long after his death. “If you want to be proper about it, Lady Cassandra’s the one who killed him. You can take my word for it.” He managed to get a chuckle through a fit of coughs. “Sliced the bastard clean through the fucking heart-“

He should have been watching the mage. It was an amateur mistake to underestimate the mage. But he had forgotten, and the mistake cost him. A strand of lightening shot through him, from the back of his skill all the way down to his toes, causing him to cry out in pain and fall back onto his ass.

“You made a mistake.”

“I assure you,” he said through gritted teeth, sitting himself up, “I will not ignore your little _pet_ again.”

Fa laughed almost gleefully, and it reminded Dorian of the way Hewen had mocked Armet. “You misunderstand.” She whistled again and the two elves behind her disappeared behind the dark corner, back out of the dungeon. The smirking woman lowered onto a knee to meet Dorian’s gaze. “Hewen was my mate.”

That rightfully explained the hostility. “Ah. I suppose this blighted headache fogged my memory and I forgot how seriously the Dalish take their mating rituals.”

The smirk again disappeared, and Dorian could swear there was fire in Fa’s eyes. “We are _not_ Dalish.” Dorian didn’t dare offer her a reply, even with the mage gone. He didn’t yet know what she was capable of. Fa examined him closely for a moment before standing and turning her back to him. “We are different than the elves you have enslaved in your cities. We are different than the Dalish. We are different because we are better. When Hewen came to us explaining how deeply his clan had betrayed him, I took him in because he was destined for better.” She stopped for a moment, seemingly struggling to control her rage. “The Dalish feared his power and if he were to seek out help from a human, he would be thrown in an alienage- trapped, as you are before me.”

“So you want what, revenge for your lover’s death? Go ahead and kill me then- An eye for an eye, and all that.” He was testing her.

“If I wanted you dead I would have killed you in the desert and you know it.” She caught on quickly. “I _will_ kill you. But first I need a small favor. A last request.”

“You know I’m new to this whole kidnapping thing but aren’t I the one who gets a last request granted?”

She stood, hands folded, and whistled once more. A different hooded elf peered around the corner. Maker’s breath, how many of them were there? He handed Fa a quill and two pieces of parchment paper- one blank and one not- then moved to stand behind her.

“Wouldn’t you like your lover to know you’re safe, to not have to worry if anything has happened to you?” Through the bars she slid him the parchment that already had a letter written on it. He took it reluctantly and read it over. His heart caught in his throat.

_Dearest Armet,_

_I have not made it to Tevinter yet, but I wanted you to know that I am safe in a village in the eastern part of the Orlesian desert. It’s really quite beautiful, the way the mountains meet. I wish you could see it. The people here are kind and have taken me in as if I am one of their own. My mount is resting, and I should be on my way in a number of days. The journey will be long, but I am looking forward to it. I am doing well; you need not fret over me. Take care of yourself_

_Love, Dorian_

“This is utter rubbish! Do you take him for a fool? If the poor hand doesn’t tip him off, the shitty syntax surely will!”

“I suppose you’re right,” Said Fa with a mock frown, “He might just believe you’re in danger and come looking for you- Exactly in the place you said you would be.”

Oh. _Oh._ For the first time in his life, Dorian had exactly nothing to say.

“You will copy this letter word for word. If you deviate, I will make your lover suffer before I kill him.”

“He isn’t my lover.” He forced out. She only laughed. He ignored her and tried again. “What’s wrong with sending a normal ransom note?”

“If I do that, he will bring an army. People are less likely to stand by the side of a paranoid man who hasn’t any evidence aside from his own gut feelings.”

It was becoming increasingly apparent that this was not Fa’s first time negotiating with prisoners. Dorian had to give the elf some credit for thinking this right through.  She slid the quill and paper under the bars and into the cell. Dorian frowned down at it. “You know,” he sneered, “Revenge isn’t going to make you a lovelier person.”

“Perhaps not,” She tossed over her shoulder as she pulled the hood back over her face and turned to leave. “But it will make me feel better.”

It was only after she was gone that Dorian finally lifted the quill from the ink well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor finds out that Dorian's departure has less to worse things than he originally imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short section, but I hope you enjoy it!

It was easy at first, pretending nothing had changed. All Armet had to do was keep himself busy. Even though Corpheus had been defeated, there was still plenty to be done and Armet found himself in and out of the war room constantly. It was in those quiet moments in between when he was forced to catch his breath that the weight of it would catch up with him. _This isn’t forever_ , he told himself constantly, but he never believed it. On a painfully eventless evening, he found himself at the Tavern bar, cupping an untouched mug of Ale. He hadn’t gone near the tavern since Dorian had left, nor the library. It was silly, really. Those places didn’t belong to the Tevinter Mage. But every time Armet neared Dorian’s favorite spot in the library or his particular table at the Tavern, he expected him to be there, complaining or laughing about some thing or another. It was a foolish thing to believe but sure enough, when a hand cupped his shoulder as he sat quietly over his ale, his heart rose in his chest.

If he wasn’t so mixed up inside his head, he would have noticed the hand was two sized too big to be whom he wanted it to be. But he whirled around only to be disappointed. He turned back to the counter with a frown. “Good evening, Bull.”

“Hey Boss. Mind if I sit here?”

Armet shrugged in response as The Iron Bull took the seat beside him.

“Are you doing okay? You know, you might be the Inquisitor but you don’t have to put on a face for me, boss. I can handle it.”

“I’m fine.” He said, not looking up.

Armet could feel Bull’s eyes boring into him, searching for the truth. “You sure about that?”

“I’m sure.” He looked up at him then, smiling meekly. “Thank you, Bull.”

The Tal-Vashoth wasn’t buying it, not for a second. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know when to let something go. “Alright, you say you’re fine, then you’re fine.”

Armet only heard Bull shuffle out of the Tavern, fixated back on the liquid in his mug. Creators, he was going to lose his mind like this. But he could only pretend for so long, and pretending certainly didn’t make it any better. Armet idly wondered if Dorian felt this way. He had far less to preoccupy him, alone in his travels. But it had only been a little over a week. Maybe the loneliness had yet to hit him. Or maybe he preferred being alone. Maybe he had been waiting for an excuse to get away-

“Inquisitor!” One of Leiliana’s people was coming towards him, waving around a piece of parchment. He stood from the bar, leaving a handsome tip on the counter by the untouched drink. “Dispatch for you!”

Armet sighed involuntarily. “Is this really so important to come charging through the Tavern?”

The poor woman blinked, probably surprised by his bluntness. Armet normally took great care to be kind to everyone at skyhold. “It’s from Master Pavus, Sir.”

He started, feeling suddenly sorry for his brashness as he took the letter from her hand. It seemed to take ages to rip through the seal and unfold the page. He read slowly, digesting every word. And then he read it again, just as slow. Armet swallowed hard. He looked up from the letter, seeing the messenger walking out the door. “Wait!” As she turned, he handed the letter back to her. “Take this back to Leiliana _Immediately.”_

“Sir?”

“And tell her I’ll meet her in the war room shortly.”

The woman stared back at him, obviously concerned.

“It’s nothing to worry about it, just be quick.” He reassured her. “And thank you.” He added.

He hated lying to his people, but he had learned long ago that sometimes reassuring words worked far better than honesty.

He hurried out of the Tavern and towards the War Room.

\----

            When Leiliana arrived, she did so quietly, closing the door behind her silently. “Inquisitor,” She greeted him, “What’s this about?”

            “Do you have the letter?”

            “Yes, of course.” She pulled the parchment from her cloak and placed it on the table among other documents. Armet read it over again before turning to face her.

            “Have you noticed anything strange about it?”

            “I don’t normally read through your personal letters, Inquisitor, and I don’t know Dorian as well as you do. However, this particular letter is certainly peculiar.”

            Armet balled his fists. The strange ache in his chest was returning. “Care to elaborate?” He managed to maintain the professionalism and friendliness in his voice.

            “Well, I can’t be entirely sure if- Do you know if this is his hand?”

            Armet reached into his tunic pocket and retrieved the letter Dorian had left him, opening it and placing it beside the new one.

            Leiliana sucked in a breath. “They’re identical.”

            “And if they weren’t, what would you suggest?”

            Leiliana picked up the parchment again, looking it over meticulously. “I would suggest it were written by someone else.”

            The Inquisitor looked back down to the letters on the table. “Is it possible that someone _forced_ Dorian to write this letter?”

            “I suppose it _is_ possible,” she folded her hands behind her back, “though it’s just as luckily that he ate something rotten in the desert.”

            He shook his head vigorously. “No. Something is wrong.”

            “What makes you so sure?” Ask Leiliana, speaking softly.

            Armet picked up the parchment, eyes fixed on the last word before Dorian’s distinct signature. _Love_. Dorian had never used that word before, at least not in regards to Armet. And while it broke his heart to admit it, this is what truly led him to believe that these words did not come from Dorian. “Because I know him.” He retorted, composure breaking.

“Inquisitor-

“Leiliana.” He stood to face her, “ _I know him._ ”

They stared each other down for a while, Leliana silently trying to dissuade him, and Armet silently trying to convince her.

 

            “Perhaps _I_ can be of assistance.”

            They both turned, having missed the sound of the door opening. Morrigan sauntered into the room, snatching the letter off the table without hesitation.

            “This isn’t a matter which requires _your_ assistance, Morrigan,” Said the spymaster coldly. “If the Inquisitor needed an Arcane advisor, I’m sure he would have called for one.”

            Armet sighed, thankful for the break of silence. “It’s alright, Leiliana.” He wasn’t sure how Morrigan had known about the letter, but he welcomed the help. “Maybe she can be useful.”

            “Indeed, I can be.” Morrigan flashed them a grin as she finished reading the letter. “Empress Celene often received angry letters that had been enchanted with all sorts of ghastly things. Posions, salves, and sometimes,” she ran her hand over the parchment and it began to glow, “hidden messages.” She dropped the letter back on to the table and backed away so they could look at it.

            “ _Maker’s Breath,”_

_“By the Creators,”_

            Beneath the ink on the page, trapped by a weak enchantment, was a message written in blood.

            **Don’t. Find. Me.**

“There, you have your proof.” Armet breathed. “Now please, let me go after him. I’ll go alone if I must.”

            “No. It’s obvious that they want you alone.”

            “As much as it pains me to say,” Added Morrigan, “Leiliana is right. Send you alone, and they’ll kill you.”

            Leiliana spoke up through a poorly concealed smirk. “On the other hand, we can’t bring the entire inquisition army to face an enemy we know nothing about. It would cause a panic- I suggest we send one of my scouts.”

            Armet shook his head. “I don’t feel comfortable sending your scouts off to their deaths. Remember what happened before we knew there was a dragon in the Western Approach?”

            Morrigan again took it upon herself to break the tension, this time by clearing her throat loudly. “If I may be so bold, I have a suggestion.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, sorry. this might actually end up being five or six chapters...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated, and thanks everyone who's been keeping up with this!

Dorian was normally pretty good at party tricks. But figuring out how to get a message back to the inquisition using only Fa’s letter and what he had on hand, was a bit more than your average party trick. At least he had decent motivation – if he messed this up, Armet would die. That thought alone was enough to spur him to do what needed to be done.

            He was going to have to use magic that was for certain.  He’d need a spell to distract the guard, and one to use on the parchment.  It wouldn’t take much mana, but as long as his magic was blocked he wouldn’t be able to cast even the simplest of spells. Unfortunately, the mage was not guarding the cell, but somewhere else in the camp. That meant Dorian was going to have to wait until he was far enough away for the hex to be removed. Dorian Pavus was not known for his patience. Ah well. It at least gave him time to move on to the next part of his plan.

            In order to hide a secret message beneath the one Fa wanted him to write, he needed to use something other than ink. His options were really limited to only one choice: blood. Using blood in a spell didn’t make it blood magic. Though admittedly, Dorian had learned this particular spell from a blood mage. It was a very good thing he wasn’t squeamish. He finished the letter, then taking care to not draw too much attention to himself, started to root through the dust and miscellany scattered on the cell floor. He needed something sharp. It didn’t take too long – Someone had apparently forgotten about the last denizen of his particular cell, and hadn’t bothered cleaning up after their inevitable passing. Dorian picked up a rather sharp tooth – that he hoped once belonged to an animal - and tested it against his finger. Yes, it would do fine. As he examined it, he felt his mana return to him. The mage was far enough away that he could probably cast a few spells. Scowling, the elven guard put a hand on his sheathed sword.

“What have you got there?”

Dorian was going to have to be quick and precise. “What, this? Oh just something peculiar I found. Perhaps you should take a look?” The guard glowered at him, but move forward anyway, just close enough for Dorian to slip his hand through the bar and grab the man’s forearm. Before the elf could draw his sword, he stumbled backward and slumped down against the wall. Dorian waited until he heard snoring before slicing a thin line through his finger. It stung but he’d suffered worse. With a quick movement of his hands, the words on the page faded away, leaving it seemingly blank. Dorian didn’t know how long the sleeping spell would last. He had to be quick.

The point of all this was to save Armet. He didn’t want him coming to his rescue. He rather die here, if it came to that, than to be the cause of the inquisitor’s demise. And Fa would surely torture him with blood magic, or worse. His words had to be convincing, but short. He thought of it then, and dragged his finger across the page, trying to keep it neat. When his message was written out, he cast another spell and the red writing was replaced with neat rows of words written in black ink. He prayed it was enough to sway his love to stay away. It had to be, because he soon felt his mana leaving him. The elf outside the cell groaned, steadying himself on the wall and standing. Dorian swiftly dropped the tooth and held the parchment through the bars with a smile.

“I believe this letter will match your master’s exact specifications.”

The elf rubbed his bald head and grumbled something in elven. Dorian began to fear his intentions had been made known. After a painfully silent minute, the elf snatched the parchment, and headed out the door. Dorian allowed himself a breath. He seemed to be in the clear. Now all he had to worry about was his own impending torture and death. Wonderful. Perhaps it would be a swift hanging, or a decapitation. He thought about the look in Fa’s eyes when he had brought up Hewen’s death. No. There would be torture for sure, and certainly not the pleasant kind.

He hadn’t long to fantasize about what was to come. The door had opened again, letting in Fa and two of her followers, one of which the guard who had been watching him. He muttered something in elvish to the woman, and though Dorian only knew a few words Armet had taught him, he knew it couldn’t be good. He straightened himself out, and starred Fa down as she approached him, an unsettling grin on her face.

“It seems you are bleeding, Master Pavus.”

“Yes,” He quipped, swallowing the fear rising in his chest, “That tends to happen when you’re knocked unconscious and tossed into a dungeon.”

She sustained her smile. She was quiet good at faking sincerity. If she wasn’t an elf, Dorian might think her Tevinter. “You are very lucky my messengers are already off with your letter.” He answered her with a bitter smile. He was very lucky indeed. “But I’m afraid I need to know what you did to that parchment.” As she turned to leave the dungeon she called to her guards, “Do what it takes to make him talk.”

The big one unlocked the cage while the mage readied his staff, electricity already crackling in the air.

This would not be pleasant.

“I’m afraid that if any more blood gets on my clothes, gentlemen-“ he winced at the sound the knuckles cracking, “-I… I will have to send a very angry correspondence from my tailor when I return to Tevinter.”

The mage muttered something in elven, and the other chuckled low in his throat..

They were very thorough in their methods, alternating between different types of magic and various weaponry. By the third day, his clothes were torn beyond recognition, and several of his ribs had been broken clean through. But the only sounds escaping his mouth were cries of pain that he could not swallow. By the fifth day, he could no longer stand. He wasn’t sure if the constant electrocution to his legs had made them numb or if he simply lacked the will power. But he didn’t dare give up his secret.

He wanted to. Maker, did he want to. But he thought of all he would sacrifice if he did. His efforts to keep Armet away would be wasted. So he simply held on.

On what must have been the 7th day, he was alone in the cell, eyes closed but unable to sleep, when he heard a small chirping sound. He opened his eyes. He heard it again. Dorian squinted, straining to see the source of the sound without moving so much as to hurt his damaged body. Another chirp. There, in the one patch of light that illuminated through a crack in the wall was a small crow, its feathers a purplish color.

He was probably losing his mind, but he swore he had seen it before. All too soon, the door was opened again – the mage was back to torture him – and it flew out again. Perhaps he had imagined it entirely. Well if he was to lose his mind, at least Armet wouldn’t see him like this.

* * *

 

Armet was alone in the war room when Morrigan entered. He only noticed her entrance because he was expecting her.

            “Inquisitor,” She greeted him swiftly with a polite nod of her head.

            “It is good to see you Morrigan,” he dropped the letter which he had been examining yet again, struggling not to rush his words, “I trust you have news?”

            “Indeed, I do.” But she frowned. Armet swallowed. “I have located Dorian-“

            “That is good news-“

            “But he… isn’t well.”

            “ _Fenedhis.”_ He swore, his fist landing hard on the table. Morrigan jumped. It was very rare that he let himself get so emotional. But Dorian was hurt. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Armet squeezed his eyes shut, and blinked away the tears gathering there.

            “Inquisitor?”

            Armet snapped his head up to look at Morrigan. She seemed concerned.

            “Perhaps it is unwise to accompany those being sent to find-“

            “ _I_ am going to find him, Morrigan,” He snapped. “I no longer care about what is wise, and what is not. Please I,” He released he was begging and felt ashamed of it but continued, “I need to do this.”

            Morrigan frowned, but didn’t argue with him. “I see your mind has been set. Shall I send for the commander?”

            “Yes.” She turned to leave the room, but Armet called after her, “And Morrigan? Thank you.”

            The witch scoffed, but offered him a reassuring smile.

When he heard the door close, he returned his attention to the letter, smoothing his hand over the blood. Dorian’s blood. Creators, how much of it had been shed already? Morrigan was right. It was unwise to get himself involved in this, he was too attached. But someone had to pay.

            And they were to pay by his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian makes a dangerous bargain with his captors as Inquisitor Lavellan takes steps to rescue him.

     The stables were still dark when Armet arrived in the morning to ready his mount. Good. He could use a few spare minutes of solitude. He approached his small Dalish steed and rubbed her snout gently. As she relaxed into his touch, he tried to steady his own mind. He could not think of what was at stake. Instead, he focused on tactics, the mechanics of battle. Sending Morrigan to scout had been an excellent plan. Not only did it confirm that Dorian was in danger, but it also gave them a decent idea of what they were up against. He was sure, even in their depleted state after Corepheus’ attack, that they would outnumber the kidnappers. However, Morrigan mentioned that their organization was completely unknown to her. All they knew for certain was they were elves, but not Dalish. Armet didn’t like the sound of that. That meant they were an unpredictable enemy. The sound of heavy foot falls broke him from his thoughts.

            “Are you sure you’re up for this?” Said the warden formerly known as Blackwall. “We can hold the front line well enough with out you.”

            Armet faked a small smile as he scratched behind the horse’s ear. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m plenty fit to fight.”

            Blackwall approached his own mount in the stall beside Armet. “I didn’t say you couldn’t fight. Rage can be quiet the motivator in a fight,” He frowned, shaking his head, and added quickly, “Perhaps I misspoke.”

            Normally, Armet would reassure the other man, give him a genuine smile and ask him to explain what he really meant. But the unsettling feeling in the elf’s gut had taken over his entire being. He wasn’t the same as he had been. He was angry now, angrier than he had ever been. Perhaps the warden was right, and it was unwise to embark on this mission. No. The rage inside of him demanded justice. He didn’t bother responding to Blackwall. He tended quietly to his horse until the other man walked away, grumbling to himself.

The journey to the desert took four days. It would have taken less time if the troops had been on horseback, but it simply wasn’t possible with the small army he had assembled. He spared no expense on this operation, bringing a generous amount of Cullen’s men. He also brought with him his entire inner circle, with the exception of Josephine who had been left at handle any political upheaval that could occur in his absence. He trusted that Skyhold would be in good hands. He knew he had been excessive when planning the assault, obsessive even. But this was Important. This mission was like nothing they had faced before because so much was at stake.

Morrigan stopped him when they neared the place Dorian was being kept. It was an old fortress, possibly tevinter, sitting seemingly undisturbed between two dusty cliff faces, just as the letter had described. He called over Leliana. “We’ll make camp here. Send one of your people to inform Cullen, and a set up a team to keep watch.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” She said with a polite nod.

As they quietly worked to set up tents and prepare for the inevitable battle, Sera approached him with a mug of ale.

            “Alright Mr.Grumpy Elf, it’s time to lighten up a bit, yea?”

            Armet smiled softly, and took the mug from her. “Thanks, Sera.”

            She snorted loudly, ruffling her blonde hair with her hand. “Whatever. Just can’t stand you being all weird and broody. We get enough of that with Lady Cassandra over there.” She turned to walk away, but stopped and said quickly over her shoulder, “We’ll get him back. You’ll see.”

            She was gone before he could thank her again.

* * *

 

Dorian had long since stopped counting the days. At least now he was fairly certain that Armet had gotten his message and was adhering to it. It was a good thing, but his mind refused to believe it. The emotional hardship of being rejected was far worse than anything the elves had dealt him. Perhaps Armet had simply forgotten him, or already moved on to some other man. After all, he could have anyone he wanted, being the inquisitor.

            But Dorian knew Armet wasn’t like that. It had taken months for the elf to even admit he had feelings for Dorian, let alone act on those feelings. The ache of his previous relationship had left him hesitant in matters such as this. So he hadn’t forgotten about him. But he wasn’t here.

            Dorian knew that meant he was going to die here. He could live with that. The Maker, or Creators, or what have you, had made it painfully obvious that he wasn’t destined to save Tevinter from its demise. Maybe after he had passed the inquisitor would find time to rescue his country.

            Or better yet, let it burn.

            “Fuck Tevinter,” He muttered, throwing himself into another fit of bloody coughs. The guard outside the gate laughed at him. Through his self-pitying haze, Dorian didn’t notice Fa come down the steps until she was in front of him, grinning ear to ear.

“You again,” Was all he managed to spit out.

“I must say, I’m impressed you’ve managed to survive this long.”

“Yes, us ‘Vints’-“ he cleared he struggled to clear his throat, “Are quite the stubborn bastards.”

“I see,” Was all she offered before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“What’s so damn funny?” He shouldn’t be getting angry. It would only fuel her pride. But his head wasn’t exactly on straight, what with all the torture and everything.

The corners of her mouth twisted up in amusement. “One of my guards told me he fancied you.”

Dorian felt his common sense returning; at least enough to tell him what was coming. “Did he now?”

“Of course I told him I treat all my prisoners like guests. And I would never offer a guest to my staff without their permission.”

            Dorian didn’t like where this was going. He looked up at the woman with a hard scowl. “You intend to acquire my permission, then.”

            Fa turned to face the wall, but Dorian could still hear her giggling. It made him hate her. He hadn’t hated anyone this much since meeting Hewen.

            “You would be pleased to know that whatever you did to that letter worked.”

            Maker’s breath, what did _that_ mean?

            “It seems your lover has arrived to save you. And he’s brought with him the entirety of the inquisition.”

Dorian didn’t know what to feel, so he tried not to. He buried the feelings deep inside himself, like he had been doing with the pain all this time. So Armet hadn’t forgotten. And maybe with an army on his side, he actually stood a chance. But ah, Fa knew this.

            “I promise you, it was not my intention to lead him here.”

            “Regardless of your intentions, he’s here now.” She turned back around to study him. He averted her gaze. “I’ll let you see him before you die.”

            “In exchange for letting your men have their way with me?” He growled. “What could you possibly gain from that?”

            “The respect of my men.”

            Dorian struggled to think as Armet would if he were in this situation. The Inquisitor was a selfless man, and would of course sacrifice _anything_ for someone he cared for. But Dorian was not a selfless sort of man. He was inherently prideful. At least, he used to be before that blighted elf came into his life and fucked with his emotions.

            Now, all he wanted was his Amatus safe.

            “If I agree to your terms,” he inquired through ragged breaths, “Will you face him _and_ the full force of the inquisition instead of ambushing him like a coward?”

            She chuckled softly. “Sometimes the wisest path leads to cowardice. However I accept your terms Master Pavus-“

            “There is one more thing.”

            Her eyes glittered with curiousity. “Name it.”

            He swallowed hard, silently begging the Maker for forgiveness, “If you’re going to kill me, do it quickly without him seeing.”

            “Then what was the point of going through all the trouble of acquiring you if I lose my bargaining chip?”

            “Those are my terms.”

            She frowned, but only for a moment before calling over a guard and whispering something to him in Elvish. “You drive a hard bargain, Dorian.” The large elf jammed a key into the lock and turned it, allowing the door to swing open. Dorian wasn’t strong enough to escape, but the guard was quick in grabbing him anyway, a hand around his neck as he led him out of the cell. “And I accept.”

            Dorian was about to protest as he realized he was being led deeper into the dungeon instead of out of it, but then he noticed the window in the last cell and his spirits rose. The guard threw him in unceremoniously and locked the door behind him.

            “You may look as long as it takes for my guards to return to camp.” Said Fa. That was all he needed to hear. He rushed to the window, new found strength spurring him on, and squinted, scanning the desert carefully

            There sat Armet. Even with the distance he could make out his features. Tall and lanky, milky skin shining in the moon light, just as he remembered. His red hair was gathered in a thick braid down his back as it often was when he was working. He was pouring over books and maps, obviously planning the assault. Dorian frowned over how unhappy he looked. He wished he could shout for his attention, tell him he was alive and well.

            But far too soon the dungeon door flew open, and Fa and her companion were replaced by two different elves. They were laughing and carrying on about something, probably drunk. Dorian kept his eyes on Armet until he was forced away from the window by large violent hands.

* * *

 

Armet didn’t bother trying to sleep, knowing very well that he’d only be met with nightmares. Instead, he stood over the makeshift war table, trying to figure out where the elves were keeping Dorian and how to get him out. Leiliana already informed him that the element of surprise wasn’t exactly on their side. An enemy scout had been spotted- and disposed of – along the perimeter of their camp. They knew they were coming, but Armet still thought they could get out of this without confrontation. If they could find a suitable entry point, he could send in a few people to pull Dorian out and then get out of their without raising swords.

            As he muttered over his maps, he looked up to find Cole standing there quietly. Armet no longer got unnerved by the sudden appearances of the spirit boy.

            “Hello, Cole.” He greeted. But he didn’t seem to notice. “Are you alright?”

            When he began to speak, the inquisitor knew it wasn’t him speaking.

            _“Pain. So much pain, inside and out.”_

            Armet ignored him, continuing his planning. Whomever he was speaking for probably didn’t want their thoughts known anyway.

            “ _They never stop smiling. Maker, I want them to stop. I want them to leave me to die here.”_ He paused for a moment, and Armet wondered if the poor sap had in fact died. When Cole began again, his voice was softer.

            “ _It hurts so much, but it’s alright. As long as he’s safe – my Amatus”_

Armet dropped his maps and whirled around to face the spirit boy. “Cole, whose thoughts are you reading?”

            Cole looked him straight in the eye, a haunting look on his face as he replied, “He doesn’t want you to find him.”

            The elf swallowed hard, hand shaking as he placed it on Cole’s shoulder. “Do you know where he is?”

            Armet followed the line of Cole’s gaze – over his shoulder and towards the lower building of the fortress. His heart skipped a beat.

            “He doesn’t want you to find him, he wants you to stay safe,” Cole repeated.

            “I know.” He sighed, overwhelmed. Dorian was still _alive_. And now he knew how to get him out of there. “Do you still want to help the inquisition?”

            “Yes, I want to help.”

            “Then let’s get Dorian back.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens.

_“What- Who the hell are you?”_

_“Someone needs you somewhere, somewhere that isn’t here.”_

_“Who said that?”_

_"Someone important did.”_

_“I… I guess I better go then.”_

_“You also need to give me the key to the cells.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I want to help you, so I don’t have to hurt you.”_

_“Alright then, I guess.”_

            There was the sound of footsteps, someone fumbling with a key, and suddenly Dorian felt weightless. Was he being carried? He didn’t know. Everything was black, and he couldn’t will himself to open his eyes. Maybe they were moving him somewhere else. Maybe they were finally going to kill him. Good. Everything hurt and he didn’t feel like putting the effort in to live anymore.

            He felt his body hit the ground. Solid, but not stone. Dirt? No not Dirt, _Sand._ Maker’s breath, Was he finally outside?

            Cold fingers pressed against his neck. He barely felt himself shudder.

            “ _He’s alive.”_ It was a woman’s voice, someone he knew but couldn’t place. “ _Cole, get the inquisitor.”_

            There were more footsteps, getting softer and louder around him, voices both familiar and strange. Through it all, he heard his name being called.

            “ _Dorian! Dorian, can you hear me?”_

It was Armet, it had to be. Maker, maybe he’d finally lost his mind.

            “ _Is he asleep?”_

_“Not quite. Tis a spell I haven’t seen before.”_

_“Maybe Vivienne knows. Someone go back to camp and get her.”_

_“No, you don’t need all that fancy crap.”_ It sounded like The Iron Bull, but he couldn’t be certain. “ _Hand me that flask.”_

It couldn’t have been more than a few drops, but Dorian felt the water hit his face like a tidal wave. It crashed over him, sending him back into consciousness sputtering. He blinked and squinted as his vison cleared. There was a slew of people surrounding him: Leliana, Morrigan, Iron Bull, Varric, even Sera. But where was Armet? Before he could start fretting, he felt a warm hand squeeze his own. He followed the hand to the arm attached to it, and the arm to the person.

            He was holding him up, smiling down at him with shining eyes. Dorian almost didn’t believe it. “ _Amatus_ ,” He breathed out the endearment like it was his last breath.

            The crowd around them voiced their approval, and Dorian kept his gaze trained on Armet, as if looking away from him would make him disappear.

            “Can you give us some space?” The elf said to the crowd. “We’ll meet you back at camp.”

            The rest muttered quick apologies, and hurried away, leaving the two of them hunched behind a sand dune.

            “Amatus.” Dorian repeated, it seemingly being the only word he could manage at the moment.

            “Yes I’m right here Vhenan.” He said softly, smoothing a hand over the mage’s knee. His gentle smile fell into a frown when Dorian winced. “Oh _Fenedhis,_ I’m sorry, I forgot you were injured-“

            “It’s alright.” He swallowed back a cough. “I may no longer have my looks, but at least I still have my charm.”

            Armet laughed, though Dorian could hear the sorrow and regret in it. “You’re still plenty handsome, Dorian.”

            “Glad to hear it, I-“ but his banter was cut short by a fit of coughs and a searing pain in his lungs. “ _Kaffas_.”

            “ _Ma’Vhenan,”_ The elf chided as he helped Dorian into a sitting position to stop the coughing. “I know I shouldn’t ask, it will only make me angrier…”

            Dorian knew the question was coming, he knew that Armet would not like the answer and so he deflected. “You’ve never struck me as the angry sort, Amatus.”

            Armet sighed deeply, eyes screwed shut. “Truth be told, I didn’t think I was. But when Morrigan told me you were hurt-“ When his eyes opened again, Dorian could see the rage burning in them. It was almost frightening. “I need to know what they did to you.”

            “You can see the lot of it. They weren’t exactly shy, these elves.”

       Armet nodded slowly, taking a healing potion from his pack and pressing it to Dorian’s lips. Dorian drank it slowly, enjoying the feeling of the magic restoring him. It would still take time for his physical wounds to heal, but this certainly helped.

       “And what about what I can’t see?”

       Dorian frowned as the empty flask was set in the sand. Curse his clever elf. He met his gaze. There was so much anger and pain in his normally gentle face. He wondered if this was how Armet had looked when he had realized Dorian had left. He sighed, defeated, and said quietly, “It’s nothing I haven’t been dealt before.”

      There was a change in Armet’s eyes and Dorian knew he needn’t explain himself farther. “Dorian, I am so-“

      “This isn’t your fault. It was the elves.” Kaffas, if he weren’t so weak he’d kiss the worried frown right off the other man’s lips. “Speaking of whom, we should probably hurry back to Skyhold before they notice I’ve been silent for far too long.”

      “You’re probably right.” Said the elf, smile returning.

      “I’m never wrong.”

      “I wouldn’t say never.” Armet extended an arm, and Dorian gladly took it, hoisting himself back to his feet. “Remember that time-“

 

“Inquisitor. So we finally meet.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of 'Vengeance' - Epilogue still to come.

He hadn’t heard her approach, this Elven women donned in a hooded cloak. Her voice was calm but her eyes were angry.

Dorian limped forward, as if to charge. “You promised, you _fucking promised_!”

Armet held the mage back and stepped in front of him. The last time he had seen Dorian like this was in redcliff with his father. It made him angry, but he swallowed it down and raised his staff.

“Yes I did, Master Pavus. However, that was when I held all the cards. The game has undoubtedly changed.” She smiled, teeth showing. There was something frightening and familiar about her smile.

“It would be wise of you to move on.” Armet hissed. “I have the entire force of the inquisition behind me, and you seemingly have no one.”

 

Her laugh surprised him, and Dorian tightened his grip on his wrist.

“I am shocked you think me so unintelligent. I successfully captured and crippled your Tevinter mage and lured you are here, did I not?” She gestured at the dunes around them which were now encased in darkness from the setting sun. “As we speak, my archers and mages are surrounding you, and by my calculations it will be quiet sometime before the rest of your company realizes what’s happened,” She whistled and one of the mages in question slithered out of the shadows, a lightening staff trained on Dorian, “And if you call for help, I’ll have Master Pavus here killed.”

Armet swallowed, lowering his staff. “* _Ar’din nuvenin na’din.”_

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew the things I’ve done to your lover.”

“You must have a reason, even if I don’t understand it.”

“You are deflecting.”

“Because I meant what I said.” And he did. He didn’t really want to kill her, because he never killed anyone without justification.

She smirked, nodding her head slowly as if processing what he had told her. “I suppose I _do_ owe you an explanation.” She whispered something to the mage beside her and he responded with a distinctive sounding whistle.  The shadows began to move, emerging from behind the dunes. Dorian shifted uncomfortably as a group of the hooded elves came forward.

“Why must you always look for the good in people?” He whispered to the elf.

“Because that’s what leaders do, Dorian,” Though today, he doubted his own judgement.

As they stepped into the moonlight, it became clear what the elves were carrying was a wooden casket. Armet swallowed, and continued with the formalities. “You never did tell me your name.”

“You may call me Fa.” She said swiftly, turning to run nimble fingers over the casket’s lid. She muttered something in elven and they set it down and retreated back into the darkness.

“Do you miss your clan, inquisitor?”

“Sometimes,” He admitted, not knowing what she was getting at, “though I have found a new clan with the inquisition.”

She nodded again, humming to herself. “It’s strange isn’t it, how elves are drawn to others.” Though she was addressing him, she examined the wood of the casket between them. “I never had a clan of my own. I never needed one. These people you see with me aren’t family; they’re merely followers who haven’t brains enough to think for themselves!” She stopped to laugh at her own comment, getting no reaction from the elves she had just insulted. Perhaps she had them under a sort of enchantment. “-Except for this dear soul here.” She cooed as she rubbed the casket affectionately with the pads of her fingers. “Would you like to see who’s inside?”

Cold air griped him and shiver ran down his spine. He hadn’t much a choice except to appease her. But Dorian protested, holding him back. “You aren’t going to like what you find, Amatus…”

He offered a weak smile. “It’s alright. I can take whatever she throws at me- just as long as you’re safe.” He stepped forward and pushed the lid away from the box.

_“By the Dread Wolf…”_

His trembling hand flew to his mouth and nose, guarding it from the smell. He tried his best to look away, he truly did. He should have known – the laugh, the familiar mannerisms. He _had_ seen it all before. They were traits that had instilled themselves in Hewen after he had been banished from Clan Lavellan. He had seen them present before he ordered him killed after the incident with the Keeper. His gut had been right. Something _had_ drawn his former lover to madness, and that something was Fa.

“You see, I had Hewen followed the day he decided to take his revenge on your clan. I would never let _Ma’Vhenan_ run off unguarded.”

Suddenly he felt the familiar spark of the mark in his hand spurring to life, demanding his attention. He tried to control it by clenching his fist but it only seemed to get stronger. The energy from it was drawing him somewhere, the feeling of it unlike anything he had even felt.

“Armet!”

He realized then that the eyes of Hewen’s corpse were glowing green, like his mark. “What…what have you done to him?”

“I’m merely giving Hewen what you _stole_ from him – Life.”

Armet could feel it, a strange connection with the empty body before him. Except it wasn’t empty, not anymore. There was something inside it. He cried out in pain, resisting the urge to fall down into the sand and weep.

“You’re trying to bring him back from the fade?” Dorian asked, horror in his voice.

“Not quiet.” She strode towards Armet, a dagger pointed at his throat. “Part of his essence is trapped here in the physical world, but his body is too weak to allow his soul to take it over. He needs a vessel.” She smiled down at the inquisitor’s glowing hand.  “And Lavellan here makes for a perfect specimen. He’s already connected to the Fade.”

            “Will it kill him?”

            “Of course, Master Pavus.” She trained her unsettling gaze on the human, stepping close to him as he clutched Armet’s writhing body, “That’s part of what makes this so… rewarding.”

            Dorian reared back and spat on her face. “ _Fuck You_.”

            The mage behind them sent a jolt of lightening into Dorian’s chest, and he flew backwards.

            “Dorian!” Armet hadn’t time to check if he was alright, because he too fell down into the sand, the sensation from the mark consuming him. He was growing weaker by the second and he hadn’t any energy to use magic. He was going to have to talk his way out of this.

Creators help him.

He closed his eyes, and thought hard before speaking.

“Fa… You must listen to me… Hewen isn’t who you want him to be.”

“Oh?” She mocked. “And what is he exactly?”

“He’s selfish… he’s only cared about himself.” He managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, though it left him gasping for breath. He stole a glance at Fa – she was listening. That was a start. “When you found him… you put a spell on him didn’t you, like you did with your other followers?” The body in the casket started to shake, but all of Fa’s attention was on him. “Look, I know on the surface he seems… charming. Maybe he even… maybe he even told you he loved you. He… told me that once. But it’s a lie.”

            “You are a liar!” She snapped suddenly. “He told me about you! That’s why he left you!”

            “I… I don’t lie, Fa. What kind of inquisitor would I be if I did?”

            In that moment she relented, pondering her bad decisions and Armet caught the silhouette of a small crow with a pointed beak taking off in flight from the dune behind them. He needed only a little more time.

            Fa’s knife was back on his neck in an instant. “I didn’t _force_ him to love me- He did that all on his own.” She snarled, demeanor animal-like. “I just needed assurance he wouldn’t leave me for someone else. I told you I never had a clan of my own. Hewen was _everything_ to me! He was my family!”

            “He was… my family once to.” Armet breathed slowly, hanging on to his conscious with the little energy he had left. “But I had to learn… learn to let him go. You need to let him go, Fa.”

            Her eyes were growing wet, her hands shaking. She was losing focus. “If I let go, I’ll have nothing.”

            “You… you can join the inquisition… my family will be willing to have you.”

            “What? You’d have me among the best of Thedas? That’s… absurd.”

            “Is it really? You’re… you’re smart Fa. I’d… be a fool not to offer…” He couldn’t find his voice anymore. He was so tired. His eyelids began to close and he let them.

            Lying in the sand he heard an arrow soar by. First one, and then another, and another after that, accompanied by the sounds of bodies falling into the sand. There was shouting and screaming, and in the midst of it all he felt the connection his body had to the fade snap closed.

            He opened his eyes to chaos, inquisition soldiers clashing swords with Fa’s followers, Archer’s landing arrows into the elves’ bodies.  Several warriors, Cullen included, surrounded fa with swords pointed at her throat. She dropped her dagger and threw her arms into the air.

            “I surrender, I surrender!”

            The fighting came to a halt. The remaining followers were rounded up, as well as Fa herself.

            One of Leliana’s people brought him a health potion which he gladly consumed. His head ached, but he could feel his strength returning. As he stood, several of his inner circle bounded towards him.

            “Oi, Quizzy, that was some weird shite, you alright?”

            “Yea Boss, we were starting to worry you’d turn into one of those reanimated corpses we ran into in the Fallow Mire.”

            “I’m fine, thank you.”

            After he had finished reassuring his comrades, he turned his attention to Dorian, who was sprawled out unconscious in the sand. Several healers and mages were already flocking around him, but Armet pushed passed them and settled up next to him. “Will he be ok?”

            “Quite sure he’ll be just fine, Darling.” Replied Vivienne. “He’s always been startlingly resilient.”

            Armet smiled softly, taking in the newly formed scars the ordeal had left on Dorian. “I suppose you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ar’din nuvenin na’din - I do not wish to kill you.


End file.
